The Sheriff
by morbid penguin
Summary: Based off of the 2003 version. The first half of this is pure smut, smut I say, and the second half is just plain old silly not in a funny way. But I had fun writing it and, if you're just a bit unhinged, you might have fun reading it. Sexual content.


I warn you! The first half of this is almost pure smut, the second half is actually quite silly. Bear with me.

The sheriff pulled up in his cruiser. Erin and Kemper had just gone off to find him, so I assumed that they'd be back soon.

Morgan looked upset as the sheriff started to examine the back window of the van.

"Now, this is just an educated guess, but I'm gonna say that your dead body is in this van." said the Sheriff.

"Yeah," said Adam. He still had his arm around Amber.

"Would you mind stepping the fuck out of my way, boy?" The Sheriff asked Adam. When Adam had stepped aside, the Sheriff climbed into the back of the van and examined the body briefly.

"Well, somebody gonna help me or what?" he called.

I climbed up into the back of the van to help him.

"What am I doing?" I asked him.

"Just hold her head up, there yeh go." he said. He pulled a few rolls of Reynolds plastic wrap out of a bag and started to wrap her up.

"You know, back when I was younger, I used to love wrappin' these hunnies up. Every once in a while I'd get to cop a feel..." he looked me up and down, his eyes resting on my chest. His hands continued moving, wrapping the poor girl up like leftovers. Finally, he got down to her legs. "She feels kinda wet down here. What have you boys been doin' with her?" he shouted.

"Can we please just finish this?" I pleaded. I was getting brains and blood all over me. Literally.

"Yeah, yeah... here, you boys carry her over to my car...Get her the fuck out of my back seat! Put her in the trunk. And don't break my shit!" he yelled. Then his eyes fell on me. "I'm gonna need one of you to come back to the station with me to file the report. Any volunteers?"

"I'll go," I offered, kicking myself on the inside. Why did I always have to be the one to do the dirty work?

"Alright princess," purred the Sheriff, "you can ride shotgun."

I hopped in the passenger seat of his cruiser and we pulled away from the old Crawford mill. I noticed that his arms were heavily tattooed.

"So, princess, you got a name?" he asked after a minute.

"Miranda. But just call me Randy. Everyone else does." I replied.

"That's a pretty name; Miranda. Why don't you like it so much?" he inquired.

"It's too feminine. I like Randy better."

"What, are you a dyke or somethin'?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "just a tomboy. I like guys." I answered.

"Oh, you like cocks." he said.

"Yes; I like cocks." I agreed.

"Well, y'know, I got a cock." he offered, putting his arm around me. I looked down at his crotch.

"Well I hadn't thought it was a flashlight," I replied.

He pulled over into a little sheltered area surrounded by trees and pulled me towards him. I started kissing him, and to my pleasure he rammed his tongue down my throat. He put his hand up under my shirt and started massaging by breasts, always keeping his other arm around me. I pulled my shirt up over my head, and he unfastened my bra which he then removed. His mouth moved from my mouth to my left breast, and he began sucking on it and nibbling softly.

After about five minutes of him switching back and forth between my breasts, he started to unzip and pull down his pants with the arm he wasn't holding me with. Oh, his arms felt so good around me. I began to pull off my jeans and panties, now completely naked. He lowered me carefully down onto his lap, sliding himself into me. It hurt like hell, being my first time, and he saw the little bit of the pain I let show on my face.

"Don't you worry, hunny, I'll make it feel better," he purred. We kept going for a while, and it did feel better. It felt so good. After five orgasms, I could barely move. We were both soaked wet with sweat and cum, and he had his arms around me and was kissing me again. This time, when his tongue entered my mouth, I began to suck on it. I felt him grow hard again.

"Okay, one more," I said, and by the time we came together again neither of us could move. He stayed inside me, and he held onto me with one arm while with his right hand he held my rear end, with his middle finger almost touching my vagina. The way he was holding me it was kinda like he didn't want to let me go, ever. Eventually he helped me to get my clothes back on, and by that time it was getting dark. We drove back to the old Crawford mill, where I saw Erin frantically trying to start the van. Morgan was in the back and Amber was in the passenger seat. Kemper and Adam weren't there. The Sheriff handed me a bottle of beer and told me to stay in the car. I saw him say something to Erin and then my three friends got out of the van, and the Sheriff, who had them at gunpoint, ordered them to get to the ground behind the van. I was about to say something, but he had drugged the beer. I began to fade out.

I awakened to a rough hand pushing my hair from my face. I looked straight and saw through blurry eyes that I was looking at the ceiling. I was sitting up but leaning backward on the floor, my back to a couch. The Sheriff was sitting on the back of the couch with no pants on; everything but his pants were just as I remembered.

"Where are we?" I asked him, but I was startled when the gruff voice of an older female answered.

"You're at the Hewitt house," she said, "and you ain't leavin' any time soon. That friend of yours, Erin, she's dead. They're all dead. So now it's just you left. But not for long."

"You're going to kill me? Why? What did I do?" I half asked, half pleaded. The Sheriff came down from the back of the couch to sit on the actual cushion. He put my head on his crotch and put his right arm down the side of my neck. With his right arm he caressed my face and hair with. I held onto his right arm, afraid of the answer I was going to get.

"Look it, Momma, she likes me." he said. She ignored him and addressed me.

"I know your type. You're all the same. The awful way you treat my boy. What about me and my boy? Huh?" she barked.

"Jediah?" I asked, remembering the sweet little boy from the mill. "I didn't treat him awful! He was so sweet."

"Not him. Tommy. Tommy, get in here. Thomas Brown Hewitt, you get in here right now!" she hollered. I heard thumping and without bothering to look I jumped up into the Sheriff's arms. He held me and I felt safe.

"Take her down in the cellar, Tommy." ordered the woman.

"I don't wanna leave you," I whispered to the Sheriff, looking into his eyes.

"See! You hate my Tommy!" the old woman yelled.

"She does not, Momma! She hasn't even seen him yet!" said the Sheriff.

"Well look, girl. Look at my Tommy. We'll see if you get to live." she said.

I stood up and turned around, the Sheriff's arms never leaving me until I started walking slowly forward.

"Take off your mask, Tommy." instructed the woman. Tommy took off his mask, which had been sewn together from several different human faces.

Tommy's real face was blue and tight. He had a gaping, rotting hole where his nose should have been. I walked up to him and put my hand on his cheek; his face was like leather.

"Does that hurt?" I asked. He nodded. "I can fix this, Mrs. Hewitt." I said. "I have a PhD. I graduated from medical school. All I would need are some simple scalpels, chloroform, and a structure for his nose. Either a real human nose structure or a plastic one."

"You could fix my boy?" she asked, astonished.

"Yes...his nose first, and then I could treat his skin. This is a rare and serious disease, but not an irreversible one." And then, without the slightest warning, the man that had killed all my friends hugged me and began to cry. I put my arms around him and kissed his head, comforting him as I would a child.

"Shh...it's going to be better. It's going to be alright." I whispered. And then, quite unlike a child, he kissed me on the mouth. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I kissed back.

That was two years ago. Since then, I have replaced Tommy's nose and he's doing fine. His skin is rapidly healing and has regained a natural color. The Sheriff and I are passionate lovers. As for the Texas Chainsaw murderer? He and his family no longer kill to ease the pain of a deformity and to teach lessons to arrogant people; now we just do it for fun.


End file.
